


rated e for everyone

by nilchance



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Fluff, Gen, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), skeletons making everything more complicated than it has to be, that red is a let's player au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:38:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nilchance/pseuds/nilchance
Summary: Red is hiding something. Edge means to find out what it is.





	rated e for everyone

**Author's Note:**

> detailed content notes in the end notes

Edge comes home from work to find Red and Sans laughing at something, which is always an ominous thing. Sans is slouched against Red's side on the couch so the two of them can look at something on Sans's phone.

Edge hangs up his jacket by the door. "Please tell me nothing's on fire."

"you ever gonna let that go?" Red asks, taking him in with one quick glance to be sure Edge is in one piece. Edge returns the favor and nods, satisfied.

"it was stretch's fault," Sans says without looking up. To be fair, Stretch would throw Sans under the bus just as readily.

"Tell me nothing's going to _be_ on fire," Edge says.

"your paranoia wounds me," Sans says in his usual unruffled drawl. "be gentle with me, edgelord. i'm fragile."

"That bullshit didn't work the first time you tried it and it's not doing to work now," Edge says. As he passes the couch on his way to the kitchen, he pauses to scritch Sans's coronal suture. Sans raises his eyes from the screen to grin crookedly up at him.

Red flicks the side of Sans's head, though he makes no move to shove Sans off him. "stop flirting and put on another one."

Edge gives him a Look. Red stares evenly back, unapologetic and unimpressed, his grin nearly a smirk. The difficulties of having a brother.

Edge goes into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. A small daily ritual, meant to shake off the small stresses of the day. At least in Underfell he was allowed to punch his problems. Now they involved sitting in interminable meetings, glowering over Blue and Papyrus's shoulders as they tried to build relationships with human politicians who saw them as clueless idiots to be manipulated and condescended to. Not that it wasn't entertaining to watch Papyrus and Blue exploit that mistaken impression to the fullest, but it still irked that the humans treated his friends (his _family_ ) like fools.

So. The cups of tea, the punching bag in their basement, the sparring lessons with this Undyne. He manages. He hasn't killed anyone since they were dragged into this universe. 289 days and counting. Some are easier than others.

From the living room comes the tinny sound of Sans playing something on his phone. There's a murmur of talking and then, sudden enough that Edge stops in the middle of pouring the tea, a burst of rather shrill screaming. Red and Sans burst into laughter. One universal commonality: Sanses have a mean streak. The only difference is how hard they try to bury it.

Tea in hand, Edge comes back to stand behind the couch. "Bad horror movies again?"

"nah." Sans shifts to give Edge a better view of the screen. It seems to be a recording of a video game. There's a thumbnail in the corner, a video of a human with a controller in hand. "slim showed me this thing where humans record themselves playing scary-- hey, i got my hands full, do the fingerquotes."

"do i look like your bitch, bitch?" Red demands.

"absolutely you do," Sans says.

Red rolls his eyes, raises his hands and does fingerquotes with both middle fingers. "'scary' video games. and you know i'd top."

"it’s so adorable that you think that," Sans says.

If left unsupervised, they would go on like this for hours. Edge's not sure if his life is easier now than back when they loathed each other. He cuts in. "Humans... watch videos of other humans playing video games?"

"looks like it," Red says. "ain't seen a monster yet. or at least anybody dumb enough to admit to it."

"Why?" Edge asks. He's seen the lazybones play before, but video games are beyond him. At least with knitting you had a scarf at the end to show for it. "What's the point? You don't even get the experience of pressing the buttons yourself."

Sans shrugs. "humans. they're hilarious. they'll watch anything."

"Obviously," Edge says. Something lunges towards the screen and the human gives another little yelp. "And they have an overactive startle reflex."

"some of 'em are faking it," Sans says, with the utter surety of a judge. "comedic effect. i respect that."

"i don't," Red says scornfully. "most of 'em don't even bother to be funny when they're not screaming their faces off. holy shit, boss, stop slurping tea in my damn ear."

Edge pauses, considers, and then takes a pointedly loud drink. Sweetly, he says, "Am I bothering you?"

Sans snickers. Then he snaps his phone shut (Edge suspects part of Sans's refusal to upgrade his phone is sheer appreciation for dramatics) and pushes himself off Red. Red grunts like it actually bothers him. "anyway, i'm out. nice to see you, edgelord.”

“Yes,” Edge says, sounding more stiff than he means to. Sans doesn’t seem to mind, giving him fingerguns and a wink. But Sans is friendly with almost every single member of their group, particularly the Papyruses. It doesn’t mean anything.

To Red, Sans adds, “seeya tomorrow, asshole."

"i don't need supervision to get to my damn therapy appointment," Red says without heat. "unlike _some_ people."

"oh wow, really? that's nice. hey, i got something for you." Sans pats his pockets, then sadly shakes his head. "nope, fresh out of fucks. if i gotta do it, then so do you. i drag you, you drag me, we both drag stretch. them’s the breaks. so like i said: seeya tomorrow, asshole."

"go fuck yourself, dickbag," Red says amiably. When Sans is gone, he adds, "i hate that guy."

"Clearly," Edge says. "Your snuggling screams of animosity."

"aw." Red cranes his head back to grin at Edge like a jack-o-lantern. "you jealous? no worries, bro. i wouldn't fuck him with somebody else's dick."

"I'm so glad you update me on your fucking preferences," Edge says dryly. "Speaking of, how _is_ Papyrus doing?"

Red flushes with gratifying speed. "hey, i told you. it ain't like that."

"Of course," Edge says, and sips his tea. Considering that Red is smug 95% of the time, it's important to occasionally return the favor.

Even a few months ago, the two of them baiting each other had a good chance of getting ugly no matter how harmlessly it started. They were all jagged edges, broken glass shoved in a too-small box, endlessly chipping away at each other. He sees the shadow of those days cross Red's face for a moment. Then Red scoffs a laugh and gets up. "man, fuck off. you gonna make dinner or what?"

"get it yourself," Edge says.

Grumbling, Red disappears into the kitchen. Once he's out of sight, Edge lets himself smile.

***

Months pass.

Red is hiding something. 

Edge knows the signs by now. The too casual way that Red answers questions about what he did that day. The way that Red makes a point of maintaining eye contact when they talk so he seems more honest. The fact that once or twice Edge has come home early and heard Red talking to someone in his room, only for it to cut off the second Red hears Edge's footsteps in the living room. (His brother has damnably good hearing, the bane of Edge's teenage years.) The dark circles making their reappearance under Red's eyes. Red's spending an unusual amount of time in his room with the door shut. (When Edge asks what the hell he’s doing in there, Red's rather predictable answer is, "jerking it.") It all adds up to one conclusion.

Edge asks questions. Red gives perfectly reasonable answers. He was talking to Stretch. He's having some nightmares, no big deal. He can give details about his jerking off habits but that's getting a little personal, boss. There are no bottles hidden under the sink or in the floorboards. There's no blood on Red's clothes and he's still letting Edge do his laundry. He's still taking the medication that his kind, mild doctor prescribed. There's no indication that it's anything more serious than Edge's finely honed sense of paranoia.

Yet that little alarm continues in Edge's head.

***

Stretch exhales a cloud of sweet smoke, not bothering to politely turn his head, and says, "that's kind of creepy, isn't it?"

Edge waves irritably at the smoke now wafting in his direction. It's going to linger on his clothes and probably his upholstery. He has an anticipatory headache. Tightly, he says, "Can you put that out?"

There. He is being _polite_. He needs information, after all, and Stretch is not known for being cooperative with him on the best of days. It's only desperation that brought him here, desperation and a hope for some sort of solidarity. Stretch has a Sans, one he is (too) protective of. That protectiveness extends to Red. It may be enough to override Stretch's dislike.

"i can put it out," Stretch agrees, clearly meaning _but I won't_. "what makes you think i know anything anyway?"

"You lazybones are as thick as thieves," Edge says. Stretch shrugs one shoulder as if Edge didn't see the aftermath of the elephant toothpaste incident. Edge exhales through his teeth. "All I want to know is if he's in trouble. Please."

He's not expecting the 'please' to actually help but that's what makes Stretch blink and look away, fixing his gaze over Edge's shoulder. Edge reflexively checks that there's nothing behind him.

"he's a big boy, edgelord," Stretch says, not unkindly. "he's fine. this whole thing where you're overreacting isn't making him any more likely to fess up."

Spoken like someone who doesn't know the kind of secrets Red usually keeps. He's never had to patch up Red's arms or seen him just... turn off, staring into nothing. He’s never had to wonder if his brother is ever coming back this time.

"look," Stretch says, taking another angry drag, "i don't want anything to happen to him any more than you do. you're not the only one who gives a shit anymore. if he was in trouble, especially _your_ kind of trouble, i'd narc him out in a second."

"Promise me," Edge says evenly.

Stretch's expression shutters even further. Understandable. Edge knows what he's asking when he asks for a promise. Stretch watches him through the smoke. Then he shoves his hand out and says with a smirk, "pinky swear."

Asshole. Edge sighs heavily, then holds out his own hand, pinky extended. "This is ridiculous. You could've just said yes."

Stretch hooks their pinkies together, then pulls his hand back and shoves it in his pocket. "your face is ridiculous."

"Such an unexpected comeback," Edge says. "I am laid low by your sparkling wit."

Stretch blows his next mouthful of smoke in Edge's face.

***

It's not that Edge doesn't trust Stretch's word. Unpleasant or not, the ashtray has a Papyrus's understanding of honor. But sometimes it takes a Fellverse monster to understand what trouble is.

Slim looks wholly absent, his hoodie pulled up and his headphones on, his expression closed down. But he watches Edge, his half-lidded eyes keen, and he listens. The music isn't on because Edge can't hear it from where he's sitting on Slim's surprisingly nice couch. Black has standards and thrift store furniture doesn't meet them. Slim doesn't match the living room, which looks like some sort of showroom, barren and clean.

"I'm concerned that he's hiding something from me," Edge says.

Slim nods. It's not an acknowledgement; Slim economizes all his communication, verbal and nonverbal. The nod means yes, Red is hiding something.

It's a relief to get a straight answer. He leans back against the couch, some of the last week's tension easing out of his shoulders. "Is he in trouble?"

Slim considers, then shakes his head no. The pause is more reassuring than alarming; Slim didn't give him an easy bullshit answer.

The rest of the tension leaves him. Slim is a sensible monster. He's interfered before when he thought he needed to; he was the one to 'accidentally' mention the resets to Papyrus, actually resorting to spoken language to do so, because he saw Sans and Stretch’s secrets had worn them thin enough to snap. If he thinks Red isn't in trouble, then it's true. Edge isn't one for emotional displays but he would hug Slim if Slim would welcome it.

"It's a weight off my mind," Edge says. "Thank you."

Slim leans forward in his seat and holds his hand out, closed into a fist. Edge brings his own up and they tap knuckles. Slim pulls his hand back, fingers spread, miming an explosion. Then he sinks back into his seat and reaches into his pocket. A moment later, Edge can hear muffled music playing from Slim's headphones. Edge is dismissed.

***

He doesn’t have to wait long. Two days later, Red ambushes him as soon as he gets in the front door by greeting him with, “i fucked up.”

Adrenaline floods Edge. He drops his jacket on the floor, kicking the door shut, and goes to Red. There’s no blood on Red’s clothes, but he knows that tone. Red can be diffident about hurting himself, but when it’s something that puts them both at risk, he sounds guilty. Still, Edge pats him down, checking for injuries as he demands, “Human or monster? Do we need to dispose of a body?”

“dude, not that kind of fuck up,” Red says, which is reassuring. The part where he adds, “you really think i need your help getting rid of a body?” is less so.

“If you kill someone, you had better goddamn call me,” Edge growls. Damn Slim, he had said Red wasn’t in trouble and this sounds like trouble, bad trouble. Of all the times for Slim to misjudge--

Red actually rolls his eyes. “yeah, okay, if i kill someone i’ll call you. my point is that i didn’t kill anybody this time.”

Oh. Edge stops patting him down. Carefully, he takes Red by the wrists. The fabric doesn’t feel wet. It’s not bad this time. 

Before he can try to ease the cuffs up, Red tugs out of his grip. With a gentle kind of gruffness, Red says, “it’s not that either.”

Relief and annoyance at war in him, Edge sits back to glare at Red. “Don’t fucking start conversations by scaring the shit out of me.”

“i didn’t know you were gonna freak the fuck out on me, holy shit,” Red says. “it’s not that bad. i mean, it’s bad but it’s not the kind of bad where somebody’s bleeding.”

“What is it, then?” Edge asks.

It’s unusual for Red to look sheepish, considering that his brother has almost no shame. He looks away, scratching the back of his neck. “i, uh. i made a youtube channel. which sounds even stupider when i say it out loud than i expected, wow.”

“That’s what you’ve been hiding?” Edge says, disbelieving. “All these lies over that?”

“it wasn’t supposed to be a big fucking deal, just one measly video, but it got out of control and--”

“You made a sex tape,” Edge says flatly.

“i didn’t make a sex tape!” Red says. “fucking hell, paps, you wanted me to talk so just let me talk, all right?”

Edge gets up off the floor, brushing carpet lint off his pants, and drops onto the couch. “Then talk.”

Red glances at him, then shoves his hands in his pockets and drops his gaze to the floor. “you know those videos me and sans were watching? the stupid human bullshit where they play video games and scare the shit out of themselves? welp, i figured it’d be good for a laugh. play a couple games. show ‘em how it’s done when you’re not flipping the fuck out over nothing. i figured it’d maybe be sansy, slim and stretch who saw it. but it got to be this whole thing. people are watching it. people we don’t know. heh. it’s so fucking _stupid_ but there you go. anyway, could be a risk for both of us so. yeah. figured i oughta let you know before i wiped it. i fucked up. sorry.”

It’s a lot of words said very quickly. There’s a strain in Red’s grin.

“Show me,” Edge says.

Looking like a condemned man, Red pulls out his phone. A moment of fiddling with it later, he hands it over. The youtube app is open to what Edge assumes is the home page for Red’s channel. At the top of the page, there’s the number of subscribers.

Edge looks at it. Then he looks at his brother, who stares stonily back, giving him nothing. Edge returns his attention to the phone, pulling up one of the videos. The audio is muted, but he’s only looking for the number of views. He finds it. Without looking up, he asks Red, “Have they seen your face?”

“i’m pretty stupid but not that stupid.” Red sounds like he’s reporting back on patrol. Old habits. It stings at something in Edge. “audio only. slim says it’d be a bitch to find us since i’m not on social media or whatever, but it’s a risk. like i said. i fucked up.”

Edge studies him for a moment. Then he closes the phone and tosses it to Red. “You’ll need better equipment.”

Red almost fumbles the phone, staring at Edge, his eyelights shrunken to pinpoints. Faintly, he says, “what?”

“I know you. You bought that computer because it was the cheapest one they had and you’re probably using the audio equipment that came with it,” Edge says. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it well.”

Still clutching the phone, Red shakes his head. He laughs but his eyes are a little wild. “boss, it’s no big deal. lemme just get rid of it.”

Edge sits forward on the couch and takes Red by the shoulders. “Listen to me,” he says, in the voice he reserves for what’s truly important. Red goes still, watching him. “Do you want to delete it?”

“what the fuck kind of question is that?” Red demands. “it doesn’t fucking matter. it’s a risk and it’s just some stupid--”

(If you care about something, better to hide it. Better to deny it. Less likely that someone will use it to hurt you.)

“It’s an acceptable risk, brother,” Edge says. It’s a rare word, using sparingly, and Red immediately squints at him sidelong like he’s trying to figure out if Edge somehow got a head injury. Edge risks a smile. “It’s not every day I have proof you did work.”

Red’s eyes narrow. “you take that back, asshole. it’s not work. it’s video games.”

“Hm,” Edge says, letting the sound make his doubt very clear. From what Slim has told him, recording audio involves editing and mixing. (Sound design is one of the few things interesting enough to get Slim to talk.) There’s work going on here, even if Red won’t admit it on pain of death. “We have the money. Get Slim’s recommendations on what--”

“uh, yeahhh.” Red grins crookedly. “about that.”

Five minutes later, Edge looks at the check Red dug out of hiding and says, “Oh.”

Red scuffs his feet on the carpet, looking strangely embarrassed for someone who just handed Edge a not insignificant chunk of money. “ad revenue. it’s not as much as you get if you get sponsors and subscribers or whatever but it’s something. heh. hilarious, right? humans. they’ll pay for the weirdest shit.”

Apparently so. Edge folds the check in half and holds it out to Red. When Red doesn’t move to take it, Edge reaches out, takes Red by the arm, and presses it into his hand, closing his fingers around it. He says sternly, “New equipment.”

Red studies him for a long, long moment. Then he says, “heard you the first time.”

“Not strippers.”

Red sighs dramatically but his grin is completely genuine. “why d’you always gotta cramp my style, boss?”

“It’s my one joy in life,” Edge says flatly. He reaches out and flicks Red’s collar. “The risks are for me to worry about, not you. If you delete your account out of some misguided attempt to protect me, I’ll kick your ass.”

“control freak,” Red says with fond disgust. Finally, he makes the check disappear into one of his pockets. “whatever. if you’re so het up, i’ll keep the damn thing going. you don’t gotta make it weird.”

 _thanks,_ Red means.

“It’s you,” Edge says. “I couldn’t make it normal if I tried.”

 _You’re welcome,_ he means. Even now, in this peaceful place, they don’t say the words. That isn’t who they are. But they both hear it all the same.

“Now,” Edge says briskly, “you’re going to buy me a grease-free dinner with your newfound wealth--”

“you’re such a damn princess,” Red says.

“-- and then you’re going to show me what you’ve been doing,” Edge says. “I want to know.”

Red scuffs his boot on the carpet one more time, probably leaving marks on the carpet. Asshole. Then he shrugs as if he doesn’t care, not fooling Edge for a minute, and grins. “okay.”

***

“Why are you using the machete?” Edge asks.

Red doesn’t even look away from the screen. His fingers never pause, dextrous on the keys as his character darts in and out, attacking the hulking robot and then retreating. “not this again.”

The window in the corner of the screen where the chat scrolls explodes into emojis. It tends to do that when Edge shows up for whatever reason. The first time he’d interrupted Red in the middle of a stream had been an accident. He hadn’t seen the headset and had immediately tried to slip back out, mortified, but Red had only drawled an answer like they weren’t being recorded and apparently his number of subscribers had jumped by a great deal.

“what can I say? the people love you, boss,” Red had said, smirking, and ducked out of the way when Edge tried to smack him in the back of the head. “they call you the snark cryptid.”

Which is the stupidest shit Edge has ever heard, but he can’t argue with the way Red grins at him on the very rare occasions that he lets himself be heard on mic.

“The powersword is clearly superior,” Edge says, trying to ignore the chat. There are Bigfoot emojis. He didn’t even know there _were_ Bigfoot emojis. “I’ve read the specs--”

“‘cause you’re a fucking nerd.”

“-- and even before it’s leveled up, it raises your defense. That would make up for you neglecting constitution in your character build like you _always_ do.” One would think Red would embrace the opportunity to have HP.

“i ain’t playing a tank here, bro,” Red says. “and the powersword is fucking hideous.”

“Aesthetics?” Edge demands. “Really? Since when do you give a shit what things look like? I’ve seen your closet.”

“never been in the closet in my damn life,” Red says. On screen the enemy crumples, dissolving into bolts. The corner of Red’s mouth quirks. “you need something or you just here to bitch at me?”

The truth is that Edge sometimes just comes in to watch. He still gives few shits about video games but likes seeing Red like this, focused and bright-eyed, doing what he’s good at. Laughing. Safe. Happy.

“No,” Edge says, his voice perhaps too soft. “I don’t need anything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Content notes: reference to past self-mutilation (Red), past alcohol problems (also Red), general fellverse bullshit.


End file.
